


Words Will Be All That I Keep

by ahinata (isyourbody)



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyourbody/pseuds/ahinata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's talking about me. Up there, clearly, to all of these people. He's talking about me. Would he be as blunt if he knew that I was here? Probably. It's Komaeda. If he knew where I was standing, he'd probably wink at me, and then blush profusely when he saw me later on.<br/>***<br/>AU where Komaeda is a writer and Hinata is a trainee therapist. They dated in college and now Komaeda's written a book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The autumn air’s starting to chill, but has not yet begun to bite. Warmth clings to me, but today I can smell the dread of winter and taste the cold on my tongue even as I go inside my apartment.

'Hajme.' Chiaki greets me from the living room.

The package is laying on the counter in the kitchen, my name glaring up from the front. It's been redirected about three times, according to the stamps, and has no return address.

I weighed it in my hands. It was about the size of a book and as heavy as one.

'Chiaki,' I call out to the living room, where my friend and housemate was - most likely - playing games. 'When did this arrive?'

'Mm, about two hours ago.' Chiaki works in game development, but she always seems to be at home when I get in.

I follow her quiet voice into the living room as I rip open the package. The cover is pale green, decorated with a picture of a low footbridge over a stream. There's a name I don't recognise, and it's titled 'Brief Moment'. The phrase feels familiar, somehow, and I sound it out quietly and let the sounds fill my mouth. Chiaki looks up.

'What is it?' She sounds as curious as I am.

'It's a book,' I muse. I flick through it, and we both watch as a piece of paper floats to the floor like an overgrown snowflake. As I pick it up, I recognise the hand writing on the note. I almost drop it, but instead I swallow as I straighten up.

_H,_

_I feel like it's only appropriate that I send this to you, although I don't expect you to read it._

_I hope it reaches you._

_K._

I glance down at Chiaki, who is looking up with expectant eyes.

'It's... from Komaeda.' I don't savour the sounds of his name like I did with the title of his book. Not like I might have done before.

'Oh. Is that his, then?' She nods at the book.

I nod, looking between the note and the book. He's written a book, and if his title and note match, some of it might just be about us.

* * *

 

'Have you read it yet?' Chiaki asks me over breakfast, as I lean on my hand, my other one shovelling rice into my mouth.

'No,' I say once my mouth is empty. 'Why?'

'If you don't,' she tilts her head, 'I'll read it.'

I pause, rice halfway to my mouth, and look at her. 'Absolutely not.'

She smiles. 'Why not?'

She's right. Why not? 'I don't want you to spoil it for me.'

Chiaki rolls her eyes. 'I thought you weren't going to read it?'

'I never said that. I might.' I continue eating my breakfast, buying time.

Chiaki mutters something about me making up my mind and I pretend not to hear.

I'm almost late, despite my early rise, because I'm always late regardless of what I do. Work isn't that far, and public transport this close to Tokyo is always prompt, which is usually to my chagrin. I never have as much time as I think I do.

'Hinata.' The receptionist nods at me as I walk through the glass doors.

I nod back at him. I don't know how he knows my name, and I'd feel rude to ask his today. I'd find out from somebody else.

The day follows the same cycle as any other Tuesday: piles of paperwork with no respite in site. I spend my lunch working, and finish half an hour early. I leave without telling my boss, because he won't notice that I'm gone, just the piles of work.

I take the metro home, thinking on the receptionists’ name, when I see a pale green book sticking out of somebody's bag. There's no book cover on it, which surprises me, and I step closer to eavesdrop on the quiet conversation going on around the bag.

'...get any early releases?' A young woman with long black hair smiles at the girl beside her, who then nods fervently.

'Yeah, I have this book that's coming out in two weeks.' She reaches down and pulls the pale green book out. To my surprise, the name on it is _his_ , not whatever was written on the copy that he sent to me. 'It's from this new author but - ah! - I think it's going to be a big hit.'

The other girl, wearing a red shirt, brightens considerably. 'What is it about?'

'Well, it's-' the train stops, and the sounds of footsteps hide her reply. I frown, but the next stop is mine. I have my own copy of the book, anyway.

It's where I left it, at the end of my bookcase, with the name I don't recognise. Chiaki is out, for once, but I close my door all the same. Some of the pages cut my fingers as I read, but mostly I stumble over references and words that I don't understand. I stop when Chiaki comes home, and sit in the dark. She knocks on my door when the sun goes down completely.

'Hajime?'

'Yes?'

She opens the door and peeps in. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah.' I lay down.

'Are you sure?'

I close my eyes. 'Yeah.'

'Did you start the book?'

'...Yeah.'  I put my hands behind my head.

'Hajime.' She sits on the end of my bed.

I turn over, away from her. 'What is it?'

'What did it say?'

'There's a lot of words in a book, Chiaki. I haven't finished it.'

She nods, making a sound of assent. 'Okay. Do you want some dinner?'

'Not yet.' I turn back to her. 'Don't you want to order in?'

'No. I'll cook.' She grins. I grimace.

* * *

 

Wednesdays I'm in what we call 'out in the field'. 'We' being me and Tsumiki. Not always together, but sometimes we check on patients at the same time to make their days simpler and our visits more succinct.

'Hinata,' Tsumiki whispers on the way over. We take a company car, but Tsumiki can't drive. I can, sort of, but I don't enjoy it.

'Yes, Tsumiki?' I try not to grit it out and to soften my voice, but I don't think Tsumiki would notice either way.

'H-Have you, um, met this boy before... that we're seeing today?'

I shake my head. 'I have his file, but I haven't been able to look at it yet. Can you tell me anything?'

'They want to bring him to the centre, s-soon, to build him some independence? But not until he recovers from his... attempt.'

I practically hear her bite her lip, and I nod.

'I see. How long has it been?'

'Two weeks.'

'That's hardly any time at all,' I frown.

We stop briefly to get lunch, and I flip through the boys file. There's not a lot of psych information there, but there is a lot of physical health information. Tsumiki has to navigate through a maze. I have a minefield.

'Hinata, do you want some flavoured water? They had a deal on...'

I look up from the driver’s seat and smile. 'Thanks, Tsumiki.'

We get to the boys apartment a short time later. I assume his parents or somebody pays for it since he clearly doesn't have a job, but before I can ask Tsumiki why he isn't living with them, the boy opens the door.

Tsumiki smiles at him. 'Hello! I'm Tsumiki, we've met b-before. This is Hinata Hajime!'

The boy nods, unlocks the rest of the door, and lets us in.

He's quiet and thin, and he reminds me of someone. Tsumiki checks his pulse, his heartbeat, his wrists, and other things that I don't understand the point of.

When she's done, me and the boy sit opposite each other. He doesn't speak.

I ask him the usual questions, and I don't dig too deeply or prod at his wounds. I don't skirt around them, either, but we've just met. He probably doesn't want to spill out his-

'I know why you're here. I tried to kill myself. You look too young to be a psych.'

I compose my face. 'Well, I'm not a psychologist. I'm just assisting Tsumiki.'

The boy rolls his eyes.  'What are you then? A nosy person?'

I laugh. I probably would have said the same in his position. Actually, I've probably said the same thing to Chiaki more than once.

'No. I'm training to become a therapist. But I'm not qualified yet.'

The boy pouts, but stays silent.

'Ah, Hinata, I'm just going to get something from the car, okay? Then I'll be back!' Tsumiki dashes from the door before I can reply, and the boy narrows his eyes at me.

'Why don't you just go? You're done, aren't you?'

Something pops inside of me. 'Why did you try to kill yourself?'

The boy flinches, then bites his lip and avoids my gaze. He'd told me himself earlier what he'd done, so he was reacting to something within himself, not what I'd said.

'Was it one thing, or lots of things?'

He shrugs, looking less uncomfortable but still avoiding my gaze.

'Sort of both.'

'Oh?'  I lean back in my chair.

'I...' He blushes, somehow. 'I was sad about a lot of things, but one thing...'

'What was it?' I don't think he was opening up so easily because he trusted me.

He hesitates. 'A... person didn't like me back.' He looks up, his eyes suddenly ablaze. 'A boy.' His voice is defiant.

'A...boy?'

He closes his eyes. 'Ugh. Does it matter?'

I sit up. 'No, no! I didn't mean it like... that. Just... A person? One person?'

'You don't understand.' He opens his eyes to glare at me, and crosses his arms over his chest. 'I love him.'

It's hard not to roll my eyes, but I resist, only because this boy was far gone enough to be suicidal. 'Right. Well. I see.' I learn forward. 'But was it really worth it?'

He sighs. 'No. He feels like it's his fault, and like he has to give me attention now. But it’s all pity, and I don't want that.'

Well, some boys would have probably encouraged him to succeed where he had so recently failed, so at least he had some taste in boys.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, I still haven't finished the book.

I get another letter that's been redirected three times. I frown at it.

'Aren't you going to open it?' Chiaki peers over my shoulder. Well, she tries to.

'Maybe.' I hold the letter out of her grasp, avoiding her hands.

I don't open it until I'm safely inside of my room.

_H,_

_I don't expect you to come, but think about it._

_K_

Inside, amongst the note, are two tickets to a signing. It's at seven PM a week from now, about six miles from where I now live. I sigh. I don't show them to Chiaki but I take the news to her. She blinks up at me as I tell her about the signing.

'What's the problem?'

'How does he know where I live?'

She motions vaguely. 'It's redirected, isn't it? Maybe he just assumed you'd be here.'

I sigh, resigned. 'Right. Well, he's clever enough to figure it out.'

Chiaki watches me pace up and down, screwing up her face when it begins to make her dizzy.

'I don't understand the problem. Why don't you go? What's the worst that could happen?'

I stop, considering. It's not like Chiaki has never met Komaeda. She has. She knows his appeal; his charm, his sense of humour, how pretty he is... She doesn't, of course, know everything. Not his entire biography, every facet of his personality and every ridge of his body, but - I hope - not many people do.

Not like I do.

She knows enough, though, to understand, in a distant kind of way, why I was in love with him. Past tense.

'I don't really want to see him again.' I pause. 'Not like this, anyway.'

'Are you sure?'

I nod.

* * *

 

Seven days later, I'm standing outside a quiet venue.

Turns out, the signing is after a reading. The tickets are early entry, for six-thirty, but I arrive at two minutes past seven. I breathe in deeply as I push open the door, not sure what possesses me to be here. I only have one ticket with me, and I hope to god that Chiaki doesn't find the other one. I don't know if he'd intended me to bring her along, but I don't even want him to know I'm here. I blend in marginally better.

'Hello, sir. Can I help?' A short woman with short, black, tied back hair smiles at me, her hands clasped in front of her. One of them has a pattern on the back, but I don't have time to look.  I stutter something out and show her my ticket, and she suddenly brightens.

'Hinata Hajime! I was told to tell Komaeda-kun when you arrived!'

'Uh,' I look around, towards the dim hall where the reading was about to begin. 'Please don't. It's about to start, right? Please tell him after.'

She nods slowly. 'You're right. I'll tell him in the interim before the signing.' She smiles at me again, and motions towards the hall.

I skulk around the back, hoping nobody notices me. The audience is a good mix of genders, although most of them are around my age. There are a few university age boys nervously at the back, leaning forward fervently, and they remind me of myself. They remind me of Komaeda, dragging me along to book signings, although he'd always insist on sitting at the front.

I blend in with the few people standing at the back of the hall, and hope it's dark enough that he doesn't see me.

He looks around nervously as he approaches, his eyes scanning the crowd. He looks disappointed briefly, before composing himself. The hall is full, and most people - I assume - payed to be here. He smiles vaguely at them, and introduces himself into the stark silence.  It's a polite one, most of the audience pleased and expectant, rather than a shy one. He's the shy one. He rubs the back of his head as he begins.

I take it all in, not absorbing any of it. He looks different, but not stark enough to be unrecognisable. His hair is shorter and tied up, but it's still mostly white and straight, the eclectic waves less now but still making an appearance. I frown. He's dressed professionally, but less so than if he was at work. I suppose this is his job - or at least part of it.

He reads from a part of the book I haven't read, and the audience is rapt, but I find it hard to concentrate on the words and his voice at the same time. He pauses a few times to laugh at himself, or wince, or cough. He's a good reader, his voice clear and smooth, and I lose myself in it. I close my eyes a few times, but then I open them to look at his face. He looks older now, but it's not like it's been that long. He has a more defined face, and he feels overall less awkward.

It's not until they begin asking questions that I remember where I am, and fear swells up in me as I realise I'm staring at this boy that I haven't seen in what feels simultaneously like decades and yet also seconds of my life.

'Can you tell us more about who inspired the romance in the book?' A girl asks, who looks about twelve but sounds at least twenty.

Komaeda grins, before composing his face a little. 'Well, It's largely based on somebody I dated whilst in university. I didn't date much before then... so that's where I got most of my experience.' He laughs.

The girl is still standing, and seems to expect more. Komaeda coughs and sits up a little straighter. 'Um... what do you want to know about this person?'

'What was their personality like?' The girl smiles, before sitting back down.

'They're a very serious person.' Komaeda says, his face grim, before he smirks. 'They are very blunt. But that's funny sometimes, even unintentionally. It makes it even more special when they have fun, and you manage to make them laugh.'

He's talking about me. Up there, clearly, to all of these people. He's talking about me. Would he be as blunt if he knew that I was here? Probably. It's Komaeda. If he knew where I was standing, he'd probably wink at me, and then blush profusely when he saw me later on.

Which isn't going to happen, because I'm leaving. I listen to a few more questions and then I walk right out, all the way home.

*  *  *

'You should have gone to see him.' Chiaki doesn't look up from her handheld.

Regretably, I'd told her the entire story. Well, except the parts about how I felt.

'What good would that have done?' I slouch against the doorframe, dwelling in my own self-pity.

'It would have been polite. Don't you think you've been rude enough?'

I frown at her, but I have no comeback.

* * *

 

Me and Tsumiki continued visiting patients three times a week, and doing paperwork on the days in between. Tsumiki also works at the hospital two evenings a week, so she starts later on the mornings following those. I'm not sure how she does it; I can barely deal with the emotional stress my current job causes me. I'm not sure being a doctor - even in training - is less emotionally draining.

'Hinata, are you going to do anymore work today?' Tsumiki looks at me laying on the couch, throwing a ball up in the air and then catching it.

'No. I'm thinking.'

'Can't you think at home?' Togami, my boss, asks me. I didn't hear him come in, but he's there, looking at me laying on the couch.

'I'm contractually obliga-'

'Yes, you are.' He glares at me, and crosses his arms. 'But I'd rather you not waste space in my building.'

I roll my eyes, and he sees.

'You're not telling me to go home. You're telling me to get back to work. But,' I put down the ball and spread my hands. 'I have no work left. I'm done for the week.' I've been staying extra hours and working lunches to impress the higher ups, so that I'd get promoted sooner, and start working the field more often.

Togami frowns at me, which is a progressive facial expression compared to usual. 'I suppose I should be impressed. There's a conference on Saturday that I think you should attend. I'll give you the information tomorrow to prepare. For now, go home.' He turns and leaves.

I blink after him, then turn to Tsumiki. 'Was he just nice to me?'

Tsumiki laughs quietly. 'I think he's fond of you. You're fairly serious.'

I hear Komaeda's voice, _They're a very serious person_ , and I frown.

I call Souda on my way home from work. He works whenever he wants, as a mechanic, and being self-employed makes his work more eclectic than when he worked for somebody else.

'Are you busy tonight, Souda? I'm working Saturday, and I know you wanted to do stuff then.' I search my pockets for my keys as I walk, taking the opportunity of a nice day - one of the last of the year - and early finish to walk home. Others in the street mimic me, most looking for cigarettes or their wallets.

'Hinata? Nah, I'm not busy tonight.' I hear the sound of metal grinding against metal, and wince. I hope I'm not distracting him.

'Do you want to do something, then?'

'Out on a work night? Oi, what happened to Hinata?'

I laugh and rub my eyes with my free hand. 'I know, I'm getting wild, aren't I?'

Souda laughs too, and he's sort of making fun of me, but not cruelly. 'Alright, we'll go out.'

* * *

 

I'll regret it tomorrow morning, and I regret it now, as I get home well past midnight.

Chiaki is still playing video games, eating popcorn as she does it. I stumble blearily into the kitchen to get a drink, and she calls to me.

'Bit late, Hajime.'

'Forgot I was living with my mother.' I'm an adult, I rationalise. I can work on four hours sleep.

'Damn right you are. Hey, did you have fun?'

I make a vague noise of assent, trying to figure out if I should use a big or medium sized glass. I stare at the glasses in front of me, furrowing my brows. 'A girl kissed me.'

'Oh? Was she cute?'

'I don't know. Maybe.'

The tap turns the wrong way, and I nearly break it in my confusion.

'Why didn't you go home with her?' Her voice is amused, I think, knowing herself how ridiculous she sounds.

I laugh, and turn towards the living room, where Chiaki is. 'Have you met me, Chiaki? I don't exactly make a habit of going home with people.'

'Of course. Especially cute girls in bars, who kiss you.'

I consider this. Why didn't I go home with her?

'I don't...' I frown. 'I don't think I want to go home with any girls. Or any boys. Or anyone.'

'Oh, well, at least you mentioned boys as well.'

I startle, recalling my words. 'Right. I...' I'd avoided boys all evening, especially a blonde boy who reminded me far too much of somebody else. It wasn't like everybody was all over me, but I guess I'm less 'serious' when I've been drinking.  I'd settled with talking to this blonde girl, instead. Who'd kissed me.

'Hajime?'

'It's easy to pretend,' I mutter to myself 'because I'm...' Into girls. Sort of. Sometimes.

'So you are pretending, then?'

I pause. 'Whatever.' I stumble to my room, ignoring anything else Chiaki may or may not call after me.

* * *

 

I'd given the blonde boy my number, at some point. Or somebody else had. I told him he'd got the wrong one, but I stared at his text all of Sunday morning. Instead of texting him again, I picked up the pale green book from where I'd left it, under my bed. I flicked to the part Komaeda had read out at his reading. I wonder what he'd have done, if I'd gone to the signing? Would he just have smiled and signed my book? Okay, no. What would he write - 'Hajime, thanks for being a coward! This book is about you. xoxo'?

I grit my teeth as I flicked through the pages. It'd be easier if I just picked up from where I'd stopped reading before, and finished the book, but it was nerve-wracking to read. It wasn't a romance, exactly, but about many different kinds of relationships with people, and how even the shortest time spent with somebody can change you. How a barista smiling at you can get you through your morning commute without throwing yourself in front of a moving car, or how your boyfriend can make you trust people again... before breaking up with you because he's a gutless coward.

I close the book, and stare at the ceiling for a while, before I pick it up and start reading randomly. I do this several times, before I find a part that unsettles me. It references a conversation I remember having - not word for word, but the meaning is the same. I feel exposed, although nobody - nobody but the author and myself - would ever know who had this conversation.

Nobody would know what happened in the day’s preceeding and succeeding it, and nobody would know if it happened how it happened in the book, in a coffee shop on a Thursday afternoon, or in single bed at university at 10am on a Monday morning when I should have been in a class.

I mark the page carefully, and flick around the pages before and after it. I'm not expecting a description of a serious boy with short brown hair, but I still feel almost as if I'm being plagiarised. Writers. All they do is steal things, and then twist them into something that changes people’s lives, or keeps them up until 2am worrying.

* * *

 

On Monday, I don't work through my lunch. I go to a tiny cafe a little while away, and glare at the tea in front of me. A different waitress comes to me a little while after I zone out, and her face pales as she sees me.

'Hinata....Hajime?'

I blink up at her, and her face colours slightly, but still remains paler than it was last time I saw her.

'Ah, I'm sorry, Hinata-san.' She hastily pulls out a pen, and pushes back an imaginary piece of hair.

'You... you work here too, huh?' I stop frowning as I look up at her, in case she thinks I'm too... serious.

'Yes. You recognise me?' The pattern I saw on the back of her hands is a tattoo; I don't get a good look because she's staring at me. I swallow.

'Yeah... Did you tell N...uh... Komaeda... that I went to the...thing?' Avoid, avoid, avoid, I think to myself as I inevitably crash headlong into the subject area.

'Yes. He was... upset to have missed you.' She glares at me. 'He almost left to look for you, but he had a signing. It was miserable, watching him have to pretend when his mind was elsewhere.'

I recoil from her admonishment.

'I, uh, had somewhere to be.'

She glares harder, and I sigh, avoiding her eyes. 'Did he tell you who I am?'

'No, but I'm not an idiot. I know him, and I've read it.'

Great. Who else would put it together, if they met me?

No. I wasn't going to meet anybody else in his life.

'So he spills everything to strangers, then?'

'No...' she bites her lip. 'I work for the company. We've known each other a while. It doesn't pay well because I'm an intern, so I work here too.'

Again, I blink up at her. 'Isn't the company based in Tokyo?' I'd googled it, out of curiosity.

She shrugs. 'Tokyo isn't far, and it's cheaper to live here. But that's not the point.' She narrows her eyes, and points her pen at me. 'You shouldn't leave him hanging. It's rude.'

'So is pointing. Besides,' she widens her eyes and hastily shoves her pen way as I continue talking, 'I couldn't contact him even if I wanted to. And I'm sure he's very busy.' I shuffle out of my seat and stand up. I'd paid already. 'I'll be going now.'

She watches me walk out of the cafe, her eyes calculating.

* * *

 

I avoid the cafe, adding it to my internal list of places I shouldn't frequent, but she turns up at my job on a Tuesday morning.

'I tried yesterday,' she says casually. 'But you were 'out',' she makes quotation marks with her hands. 'So here I am.'

We're standing on the bottom floor, in front of the receptionist. His name, I learnt, is also Togami. He must have been a disappointing son, to become a receptionist in a building mostly full of interns for his father's pharmaceutical company, but that was none of my business. I was also a disappointing son.

'Ikusaba-san,' I begin. 'I don't really have the time for this.' I had a meeting with Togami - boss Togami, not receptionist Togami - in half an hour.

'You don't have the time to be a polite individual towards your old friend?' She looks faux-baffled, and I admire her acting ability. I lower my voice.

'No. I don't have time for that. I'd like to be left alone, if that's okay.'

She gives me a disgusted look, and then hastily stuffs a piece of paper in my hand.

'If you ever feel like being a decent human being,' she almost hisses, but her face is nonchalant, 'you can use this.' She turns on her heel, looking back once to narrow her eyes at me, before she leaves the building, and leaves me standing there, confounded.

Togami doesn't promote me, but offers me the opportunity to watch qualified therapists once a week in their offices - which is as close to a promotion as I'm going to get for a while, so I revel in it.

I thank him profusely until he stops looking gratified and starts looking annoyed, and I leave red-faced, Komaeda's number in one of my pockets


	2. Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm struggling with the headcanons that Komaeda is a really formal texter or he's like. well. whatever he's doing here. it's mostly for distinction between them ok.

I find it when I'm staring at the pale green book on my bookshelf, my hands buried deep in my pockets.

It's a mobile number, so I could text him, but that feels cheap. I don't really want to talk to him at all, not in the rational part of my brain, but that same part of my brain knows I need to be polite and thank him for the tickets, and also the book. The book about me. Not entirely about me, but enough that I hesitate. What do I say?

'You wrote a book about me.'

'Well,' he sounds uncomfortable, but his voice is just as I remember it. It's not any lower, despite the amount of time since I last heard it, but I doubt mine is either.   'Not...precisely. It's not about you. You're just... you feature in it. Sort of.'

Did he pick up this roundabout avoidance from me? He used to do it more elegantly.

'There's conversations we've literally had.'

'I'm an artist,' he sniffs, 'Everything is for the taking.'

'Shouldn't you have... asked my permission first?'

Now he laughs. 'Oh, how could I have done that? Should I have mailed myself to your address and wait to get redirected? The shipping would have cost quite a lot.'

'I'm not joking. Isn't this, like, plagiarism?' There's a thread coming loose on my shirt, and I aimlessly tug on it.

He laughs again, lower. 'Oh, take me to court, Hajime.'

I bristle at him using my name, but I have to choose my battles.

'Just... don't do it again.'

He doesn't laugh this time, but he's smiling. I can hear it.  'Oh? You expect me to write another novel about our whirlwind love affair?'

I'd throw the book at him if he was in front of me - okay, I wouldn't, but I'd be tempted - but I settle for lowering my voice.

'You can't seem to write anything original, so I don't know how long you'll use old material, do I?'

He laughs again. 'Scathing, Hajime. I suppose I'll have to fall in love with another idiot and write about him, instead.'

I ignore the part which hits me like a physical force, and grit my teeth. 'Did you expect me to be flattered?'

'Well, I'm sure thousands of people are in love with the idea of you, now.' His voice hardens, and he laughs coldly this time. I didn't realise I'd enjoyed the others until I notice how much I hate it. 'If only they knew the reality!'

The loose thread is growing, my shirt shrinking by millimetres every time I tug on it. 'That's your fault, for romanticising me.'

He makes a noise, and then he's quiet for a bit. I worry that he's going to say something that'll make me want to drown myself, so I start talking.

'Look, I... I actually called you to thank you.'

He's still quiet.

'For the book, I mean. Not for writing it! But for sending it to me.'

He sighs, and is quiet when he speaks. 'Of course. Well, if I wasn't going to credit your delightful ad-libs, I thought I'd at least send it to you.'

I shuffle my feet, and frown at the floor beneath me. 'And... the tickets.'

'Why didn't you stay?'

I snort. 'What, and have you sign my copy? No. I heard enough.'

He muses to himself quietly, but then speaks up. 'Did you really hate it that much?'

I startle. 'I'm more affronted, than anything.'

'It's good, though, right?'

'The only way it could be worse,' I begin, and he starts laughing before I even finish, 'was if it was literally about our sex life.'

He stops laughing.

'...Did you finish it?'

I put down the phone.

* * *

 

Now he knows that anything will find me, I'm always scared of opening packages, or any post at all.

I hover with a thin envelope, sitting in our living room, pondering what could be inside. It's not big enough to contain anything weird. I hope. I don't even know if it's from him. It's not until Chiaki pokes me and asks me if I'm fine that I realise I'm more excited than nervous. When did that happen? I nod, and then rip open the envelope...

It's a bill. I hide my disappointment from Chiaki, who's mildly talking about somebody she met at word that I'd like.

'He's a serious guy,' she tells me, and I can see her trying to withhold her smirk.

'I'm not that serious,' I sigh. 'I'm just very, very tired.' I close my eyes, dropping the bill. 'I want to sleep for a thousand years.'

'You'd be dead by then, Hajime.'

I open an eye and look at her. 'Can't you just transfer my mind into a video game?'

'Hmm.' She tilts her head as she looks at the TV. Sometimes I forget that we can actually watch TV, instead of just using it for video games. 'Matsuda-kun could try, maybe.'

'Is this the serious guy?' I vaguely knew a Matsuda once, but not well enough to know if he was serious or not.

She tilts her head the other way, still not looking at me. 'He's funnier than you.'

'I don't think I want to meet him.'

She smirks.

* * *

 

If the newspapers I find in the break room (left there by Togami, I always assume) are any indication, Brief Moment sells well. It feels like almost everybody has a copy. That's only because I'm in what's probably the 'target demographic,' however, and it's difficult but I refuse to talk about it. How can I, without spilling everything? The truth seems to fill my mouth like ink, and there's only so much time before I spit it out. Nobody needs to get covered in the inky blackness of my truth, or whatever.

It weighs on my mind, and I can't focus fully on anything, which is ideal and _exactly_ what I wanted to happen.

'Why did you send me a copy without your name on it?' I hurriedly ask him on the phone during my lunch hour, huddled under the smoking shed in the rain. I don't smoke, but it's empty and quiet. The rain relaxes me, its' drumming like fingers kneading my shoulder blades.

'Hello to you too, Hajime.' He doesn't sound busy. Or surprised.

'Answer me.'

'Making demands, now?'

'Yeah.'

'Hm, I guess didn't want you to just throw it out. I thought you'd read it and then find my note after, and be surprised that it was me that had written such a masterpiece.' He pauses. 'Is that not what happened?'

'N-No! Of course not. It's not like you taped it in there. It fell out.'

He laughs quietly at that, and  the backs of my arms tingle.

'Ah, I'm sorry if it embarrassed you. Or disappointed you. Have you finished it yet?'

'No. I don't want to hear anymore about myself.'

I imagine he rolls his eyes, and his voice suggests that he did. 'Sorry, I don't want to remind you of your sins. Have you read the dedication?'

I grimace. 'No. Should I?'

'Perhaps.' He's silent.

'It's not like I have it on me now. I'm at work.'

'...Oh.'

'...Most people have day jobs, you know. We can't all,' I gesture with my free hand, fully aware that he can't see, 'flounce around, like artists, or whatever!'

'Flounce? I don't flounce.' He sounds mildly doubtful, or offended.

'What do you do, then?'

'Well,' I'm pretty sure he's gesturing, too.  'I don't angrily strut anywhere! Or angrily do anything.' He's flustered; talking too quickly. 'You're the one who puts the phone down on people. Maybe you're the one flouncing around.'

'You haven't told me what exactly you're doing.'

'Oh, right now? Wouldn't you like to know.'

I resist ending the call again. 'Laze about, then. That's what you do. Do nothing except, like, write stuff. And talk shit.'

'You're not very nice, Hajime. What if you have to counsel a writer, one day? Will you give them this speech, about how useless their career is?'

'I never said it's useless,' I'm gripping the phone very tightly, 'literature is very important. I don't think you're breaking much ground, though.'

'Alright, life-coach.'

I put the phone down on him.

* * *

 

'Maybe,' Chiaki suggests in a gentle voice, 'you should see him in person.'

'No.'

'Oh?'

'I don't think that's a good idea. Besides, he's in Tokyo.'

'Is he? I thought he had another signing near here.' She shows me the screen of her tablet. 'Although it's not exactly far to Tokyo. Don't you know where he lives?'

I wave a hand. 'We don't exactly talk about that.'

'What _do_ you talk about?' She pulls the tablet back in front of herself.

'We've spoken twice.' I'm doodling absently, on the first page of my notebook.

'There's no reason why you can't meet up.' Chiaki considers herself _my_ life coach, since, in her own words, I spend all my time helping other people and doing the opposite for myself.

'There's so many reasons. You don't even know all of them.' I force down memories that flood my subconscious, twirling my pen around on the page in front of me.

'Oh, like because you creeped on him in public and didn't even say hello to him?'

I frown at her, and ignore her words, but they settle around me and seep into my head.

I pull out of my phone when she's not looking, and text him.

 

>Are you in Tokyo?

 

His reply is almost instant, and I forget that my phone isn't on silent. Chiaki looks up in interest as I turn the sound off.

 

>no, not yet. why?

 

I swallow.

>How long are you staying around here for?

 

>why?

>do you need something?

 

>I'm just wondering.

 

>no, you aren't.

 

Chiaki is watching me, relentless. I frame my face carefully.

 

>You wanted to see me. When you sent me those tickets.

 

>yes.

 

>Do you still want to?

 

>you aren't very subtle, Hajime.

 

>I'm not a writer. I don't have those kind of skills.

 

>oh yes, being direct and blunt must be fantastic for therapy.

>sorry, that's probably actually true. you seemed to cut through my stuff often enough.

 

>At least I'm working on my flaws.

 

>who says I’m not working on mine?!

 

>My common sense. Are you free, or not?

* * *

 

We wind up a day later in the cafe that Ikusaba works in, although she's not there. He's been here before, I can tell, which unsettles me. He might have been in here whilst I was minute’s away, working.

He's there waiting for me, and we don't talk much as we go inside. He flips through the menu, and I watch him. I don't want to meet his eyes, but that's an avoidance strategy that I'm used to persuading other people to stop doing.

'How long are you around for?' I ask, settling my elbows on the table. He doesn't look up, but he tilts his head. He's still pretty, but I pretend that he isn't. His hair is pulled back, longer than I remember it, but it looks just as soft. I aim my eyes vaguely at the side of his head instead of looking directly into his, or at his mouth or his jaw, because I'm stupid and-

'A few weeks. I have another signing, and then some meetings around here. It's nice to be out of Tokyo.' His voice is softer than it'd been when we'd been pretend-arguing on the phone.

'But Tokyo's so big. You can't be bored of it.'

He shrugs. 'No, but there's this like... air of expectation. It's Tokyo. Even if you're the opposite side of the city, you're still in the city that you live in.' He puts down the menu, and looks at me.

'Right.' I look down. Why am I here? He seems to be thinking the same thing, because he's quieter than I remember, but maybe he's waiting for me. Or maybe he was always this quiet around people who are practically strangers. I frown.

'Is something wrong?' His voice is quiet, but concerned. I don't meet his gaze.

'No, I... I'm not sure why I'm here.'

'Hmm. You were curious.' He's assured when he says it.

'Probably.' I look at him. He looks expectant, and I don't know how to fulfil his expectations.

'Ikusaba works here. You met her, right?'

'Yeah. This is where... Uh.' I stop. He'd never asked where I'd got his number from.

He nods. 'She told me the story.'

'You talk to her a lot?'

He smiles. 'She's a good friend. A lot of people I work with aren't interesting in making friends. They're too serious...'

'Being serious isn't a bad thing,' I mumble, and he laughs.

'I never said it was. She's serious too, at work. But the others don't have time for a little writer like me.' He grins

So we talk, in a different way to the way on the phone. I suppose if I walked out instead of hanging up that'd cause more of a scene, but I wouldn't do that anyway. It's a while, still, before he starts making fun of me in earnest.

'Well, I'm not sorry for writing it,' He's leaning back in his chair, his eyes bright.

'I guessed as much. I'm not happy about it.' I stir my drink.

He shrugs. 'Do you still think I'm romanticising you?'

'I was joking when I said that. Sort of.'

'Ah, but,' he leans forward, 'how else would I get people to fall in love with an average nervous boy who refuses to be honest with himself?' He'd lowered his voice, but it rises again -  'Nobody is going to fall in love with your spiky hair or the muscles on your chest.' He quirks his lips up in a small smile.

My hair's longer now, too, but still spiky. I subconsciously push it back. 'That's not very nice.'

'Oh, well. It's true. There must be a reason why everybody is always asking me about you, and it's not how poetically and vaguely I describe what you look like.'

I wave a hand, and grit my teeth. 'Stop it. Stop talking about me.'

He smirks, but leans back in his chair and opens his hands dramatically. 'But that's my favourite thing to do!'

He keeps taunting me until I finish my drink, and it’s the middle of the afternoon when we're done. He gets up.

'Come on. Show me around where you live.'

'I'm not taking you to my house.' Mostly because I don't live in a house.

He rolls his eyes. 'I meant,' he gestures vaguely, 'the area. I'm curious.'

'Oh?'  I follow him out of the door. 'Going to use it at the backdrop for your next book?'

He winks at me. 'Maybe.'

It's cold outside, and I stick my hands in my jeans pockets. It's the weekend, and I'm not dressed for work, which means I forgot a jacket.

Komaeda gives me a strange look. 'Are you cold, Hajime?'

'No. Also, stop calling me that.'

He smiles softy. 'It's your name.'

'Not - not for you.' I stumble over the words.

He stops, then gives me a disbelieving look. 'O-kay, Hinata-san.'

I don't know when he got so arrogant, but I suppose writing a best-seller does that to a man.

He goes back to calling me Hajime in no time at all, and I'm almost relieved. I show him around the places where I usually go, to eat or shop or whatever, fully aware that he could stalk me now if he wanted. I'm nervous, but not as much as I feel like I should be, all considered.

'Hm, I can't write about a boy who doesn't shop organically,' he says with a mock sigh, peering up at the shops that I frequent.

'Do you want to do my shopping for me, rich boy?'

'Would you let me?'

'Absolutely not.'  Komaeda can't cook. That means he probably can't shop, either.

'You're cruel.'

We hang out until it begins to get dark, and by then I'm shivering. We lean on the railing of a bridge near to where I live.

'So,' his voice is bright. 'Do you have a girlfriend yet?'

'No.' I look out at the city, the street lights starting to turn on and the bright neon signs in the far off districts flickering. The stars aren't even out, but who needs them?

'Oh? Have you changed your mind?' He's not looking at me.

'I don't really want to talk about this.' I fold my arms on top of the rails. His head is on one of his arms, and he's leaning forward, looking down instead of afar.

'I see. Well, it's getting late, and you're cold.' It's not really late, it's merely approaching winter, but I nod.

'I am. Where are you staying?'

He tilts his head. 'A few miles from here. It's not too far. Where do you live?'

I gesture in the direction of my apartment. 'You know it's around here somewhere.'

He smiles, but doesn't ask to come with me.

'Maybe I'll see you around again, Hajime.'

After he leaves, I stand there until it's truly dark.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! It's been a while. Some stuff happened literally the day after I posted the last chapter lmao RIP. anyway this chapter feels messy to me but like.. I don't want to pad it out because I hate that. It's also fairly short. I'll post the next one soon (I promise :* )

* * *

  
The same place, only days later, we sit across across from each other. He's telling me about the company he 'works' for, and I nurse my drink carefully and nod at appropriate times. He doesn't comment on my silence, and instead steamrolls ahead with descriptions of the tall building he has to have meetings in, and how it intimidates him. Then he stops.  
  
'What about you?' He asks me. 'What sort of building do you work in?'  
  
I roll my eyes, and sit up. 'It's not that exciting. It's owned by the Togami conglomerate. One of the sons is my boss.'  
  
'Huh.' Komaeda leans back. His hair is down today, and the ends of it touch the top of his coat. He hasn't taken it off but it's unbuttoned, dark grey and speckled. I can't stop looking at it, mostly because with his cold reddened cheeks he looks a bit like a child. 'That must be exciting!' He watches me carefully, like he has for this entire time.   
  
I'm less nervous this time, but I'm still uncomfortable. I can never tell if he does it on purpose or not.   
  
'It's... fine. I'm doing well there.' I avoid his gaze.  
  
'Good.' He leans forward. 'I'm glad you're doing well. What are your coworkers like?'   
  
I loosely explain them to him, their quirks and their roles, and he tilts his head as I mention Tsumiki.   
  
He looks down as the table as he speaks. 'Tsumiki sounds cute.'  
  
'She's... yeah. She's nice.'  
  
'Hm. Do you see her often?' He asks affably, but he's still looking down.  
  
'Uh, yeah. We go out on the field together. What about you?'  
  
He nods, and then tells me about some of the people he - well, they're not quite co-workers, are they?   
  
His cheek redden when he tells me about one of the guys who works for his publisher, and I at once understand how he felt when I was talking about Tsumiki.  
  
Pretty sure I didn't blush, though.  
  
'Sounds like you miss him.'  
  
'I don't see him that often. Oh!' He perks up. 'I'm seeing him later, though. He's coming through from Tokyo on his way to Kanagawa.' He smiles at the thought, and my stomach sinks.It's as if I've lost him, even though he's sitting right there in front of me.   
  
'Great.' I mutter, and stare down into the dark drink before me. I wish it was tainted with alcohol so I could drown myself emotionally. 'Is it a date?'  
  
He blinks at me. 'No. I think Naegi is straight. I wish, though.' He sighs wistfully.   
  
I grit my teeth, and tell myself that I'm just mad about... something, anything. The weather. The awful song that's playing on the radio. The sounds of a couple quietly arguing near us. In amongst all the sounds, I hear him speaking.   
  
'...Hajime? You look kind of scary.'   
  
I look up, and he looks unsettled.  
  
'What? I look fine.' I compose my face and sit up. 'I should get going soon. Chiaki will starve to death without me.'  
  
He smiles, and it lights up his face. 'Ah, have you been practicing your cooking? You were always better than me, but only barely.'  
  
I smile back. 'I haven't killed myself or Chiaki yet. There's still time, though.'  
  
He holds up his hands. 'Please don't! You should hire a cook, maybe.'   
  
I stand up, and pull my coat off my seat. 'Only If you pay for it.'

* * *

  
  
Tsumiki is volunteering at a hospital event today, so I go it alone. The boy I'm visiting is just as cold as last week, but it doesn't feel like he's going to punch me this time.   
  
'You need to go to the centre soon,' I tell him.   
  
He grunts. 'It's cold.'  
  
I roll my eyes. 'Don't you have a coat?'  
  
He shrugs. 'I haven't been out for a few weeks...'  
  
'You should probably check if you have a coat. Who buys your food?'  
  
'I order it online.' He doesn't look at me.   
  
'Good. You should be eating.'  
  
It's his turn to roll his eyes. 'You sound like Tsumiki-san. She's always checking if I'm eating, and sleeping, and checking my pulse... I'm not going to starve myself to death.'  
  
'Not getting enough food or sleep can affect how you feel, you know. And her job is to literally check your physical health.'  
  
'And you're here to make sure I don't need to go back to a psych ward?'  
  
'Or admit you to one,' I mutter, before raising my voice. 'That's the general idea. You don't need to spill your soul to me, but I'd appreciate it if you gave me a gave idea of how you're feeling.'  
  
He nodded. 'I'm feeling cold.' He leans forward, his eyes serious. 'As in, cold down to my bones, even though I'm eating and the heating is on and I'm like, fully dressed.'  
  
'You haven't been outside for weeks. You might not be moving your body enough.'   
  
He frowns. 'Aren't you a psychologist? That's not to do with psychology.'  
  
'I also have a little knowledge of biology, you know. That's a part of psychology. Besides, you gave me a physical problem.' I mimic him and lean forward. 'I also think, you know, you might be a little depressed. That's going to generally make you lethargic and uncomfortable.'  
  
'Mhm.' He leans back and wrings his hands. 'There's nothing I can do about it though, is there? The doctor at the hospital gave me drugs, but all they do is make me sleepy.'  
  
'Give it some time. They take some weeks to work.' I'm not a pschiatrist, so I can't deal with his medication, but I'm not a fan of the pills he's been prescribed.   
  
'Sure.' He starts to zone out, and I look around his apartment to see how lonely and empty it is.   
  
'Have you considered getting a pet?'  
  
He coughs. 'I don't know if you've noticed, but I can hardly look after myself.'  
  
'I don't mean right now. When you feel better enough to get bored.'  
  
'I am bored.'  
  
'Hm, but you don't want to do anything about it yet.' I start gathering my things. 'I hope you can make it to the centre. If you change your mind about wanting somebody to go with you, you know how to contact me, whether it's email or phone.'  
  
He nods, still staring off into space.

* * *

  
  
  
'How'd your date go?' I spend so much time huddled in this smoking shelter during my lunch break, I'm tempted to take up the habit. Maybe it would make me less stressed.   
  
'It wasn't a date.' He's mildly indignant. 'I told you, he's straight. And I think he has a crush on Kirigiri-san, considering how he talks about her.'  
  
Is it like how you talk about him? I don't ask.   
  
'Who's Kirigiri?'  
  
'She works here. She works for the mystery department. She looked over some of my drafts, once.'  
  
'For a mystery?'  
  
'What? Don't you think I'd be a good mystery writer?' He sounds hurt. 'I think I've read enough mysteries to write a good one.'  
  
'You can't just read mysteries and then think you can write one! You need to like, experience them.'  
  
'Should I try framing somebody for murder then?'  
  
'That'd involve murdering somebody, first.'  
  
'Are you volunteering?'  
  
I groan. 'What have I done to warrant being murdered? If anything, you're the one who wrote a book about me!'  
  
'Hm. I meant that you'd be the murderer, but that's overestimating you. Maybe I'll frame myself? Then I could write a book about prison escape-'  
  
'You wouldn't survive in prison.'  
  
'That's why I'm escaping.'  
  
Back in the office, Tsumiki's desk is covered in paper. Her brows are furrowed as she goes through them and her hair is sticking up in weird places. I watch her for a few moments from the doorway, wondering how Komaeda would feel if he could see me looking at her from here, before realising how weird that is.   
  
'Hinata, could you come here p-please?' She looks up at me with wide eyes. She's been getting better since I've got to know her. 'I can't find... Ah... I can't find what I need for this file...'  
  
The file's on a young patient we saw at the beginning of the year. Psych records are my job and medical records are her job, but sometimes hospitals just put them together, and we have to sort their messes out. I hope that when I'm an actual therapist that I can afford a secretary.   
  
'Thank you so much!' she gushes when we finally figure it out. 'I didn't mean to keep you. I know you're b-busy!' She beams at me.   
  
Ah. She really is cute.   
  
  
  



	4. Delicately

  
He calls me, this time.   
  
'I have a thing,' is what he says.   
  
'What kind of thing?' I've just got in from work, and the apartment is empty.   
  
'It's a casual thing,' he sounds distracted, 'hosted by friends of mine. I want you to come.'  
  
'Why?' I'm not sure I wanted to be surrounded by melodramatic writers all night, if it was _that_ kind of thing.   
  
'It'll be fun,' his voice promises.   
  
'When is it?'  
  
'Hm. It's next  Tuesday, at a house relatively close to where I'm staying. I can bring as many people as I want, so I'm bringing Ikusaba.' He laughs. 'Don't worry, they won't think you're my date. Please come.'  
  
'That's specific. I have work. On Wednesday.' I sit down in the kitchen. It's Friday afternoon, and I haven't see him in about twenty-two hours.   
  
He laughs again.  'We're not exactly going out dancing, Hajime. It'll finish about twelve.'  
  
'Right. Well. I'll see.'  
  
'...It'd be good if you told me now, since it's such short notice.'  
  
'That's your fault!'   
  
'I only got told this morning myself.' The pout is apparent in his voice.   
  
'And you've already asked Ikusaba?'  
  
'Hm? Are you jealous?'  
  
'No. I just thought that maybe she had other things in her life other than you.'   
  
He keeps laughing at me. 'She does. She has a boyfriend, but he's out of town this week. Which is why I'm being so generous.'  
  
'How nice,' I mutter, and mentally scan my plans for the week. As usual, there's not exactly much there. 'I suppose I'm free.'  
  
'Excellent!' He claps. 'Can you be here for six?'  
  
  
  
  
I'm there at ten past, and he's busy in the bathroom so I sit on his bed. It's not really his bed, it's the hotel's, so I definiely don't feel weird about it... Not that weird, anyway.   
  
'You're late, Hajime.'  
  
'I had to go home from work, and then back here! I tried my best.' I lay on my back.  
  
He laughs, and comes out of the bathroom. He looks cute, but I pretend not to notice.   
  
'Get up. You're messing up my bed.'  
  
Wouldn't be the first time, but I don't say that. He would have, probably, if things were less weird.   
  
'Isn't that what maids are for?'  
  
He slaps me lightly on the arm. 'No, Hajime. I thought you were more polite than that!'  
  
'That's not what I meant.' I sit up, and he's frowning down at me. 'Just, they're going to remake it anyway, right? That's how hotels work.'  
  
'No, it's evening. They're not going to come in again.'  
  
'Well, you'll just mess it up later.' I lay back down.  
  
He rolls his eyes, but sits next to me. 'Your mother raised you badly. We need to leave soon, to meet Ikusaba. Do you want a drink?'  
  
I blink up at him. 'What do you have?'  
  
He motions to the minibar.  
  
'I don't suppose it has any soft drinks?'  
  
 'No. I have water, though!' He motions to the bathroom. 'Tap water, for refined palates.'  
  
We sit quietly for a while, and I realise I probably shouldn't be laying on his bed after all. It's too late now though, so I just sit up, and glance around his room. It's fairly sparse, since it's a hotel room and not his own. I do notice a pile of books, though, typically.   
  
'Have you read all of those?' I point at the pile.  
  
'Yeah.' He nods. 'I ought to buy some more, but I can't carry cases of books back with me.' He smiles shyly.   
  
'Somebody should buy you a kindle.'  
  
He shrugs. 'Maybe. I'm not sure how I feel about them.'  
  
The air is getting more heavy around us, after our silence, and his hands are nervously placed on his thighs. I want to reach out to hold one, and thread our fingers together.   
  
'Don't call me Hajime tonight.'  
  
He blinks at me. 'Okay. I won't.'   
  
I flush. 'I just mean, It'll be awkward...'   
  
'Hm. Are you worried they'll find out who you are?'  
  
'Of course I am! I'm always worried about that.'  
  
He reaches a hand up to cup my face, and leans towards me. 'Stop worrying. Nobody is going to link some random boy in Yokohama to the boy I wrote a book about.'  
  
'They will, if you keep doing that,' I mutter, and pull away. He looks disappointed. 'Besides, you mention psychology in the book. What am I supposed to do if they ask me what I do? Lie?'  I can feel the warmth from his hand as if he'd burnt me with it.  
  
He considers, tilting his head. 'Hmm, how about "This is Hinata Hajime, my childhood friend. He's the person who first made me... interested... in psychology." then I'll wink.'  
  
'That's suggestive. I don't even know what you were like as a child! And wouldn't that make you more likely to use my given name?' I pretend not to be flustered but my words all come out in a rush.   
  
He rolls his eyes. 'You're so anal about everything, Hajime. But, ah! I was cute. And very curious.'  
  
'Not a lot has changed,' I say in reply to the last part, but his eyes widen and I realise my mistake. 'A-anyway. When are we leaving? Where are we meeting Ikusaba?'  
  
'Soon.' He stands up, looking frazzled. 'In the lobby, in fact. We could go wait there now.' He checks his phone, since he doesn't wear a watch. 'Yeah, she should be there in about fifteen minutes, but she's very... punctual. I wouldn't be surprised if she's there now.' He grabs my wrist to coax me up. 'Come on, Hajime.'  
  
We have to queue for the lift, and by the time we get down to the lobby Ikusaba is waiting for us. She looks pretty, in a simple black dress, which makes me feel better about my smart-casual decisions. Komaeda's ideas of 'casual' were different to mine. She smiles politely at me, as if we're strangers.   
  
We don't have to travel far to the 'thing', as Komaeda keeps calling it, but it's cold and we decide to get a taxi instead of walking by foot, especially as Ikusaba is in a dress. We sit side-by-side in silence in the back of the car, before Komaeda starts humming quietly under his breath. Ikusaba raises her eyebrows at me, and I raise mine back, but Komaeda isn't looking. I recognise the melody, somehow.   
  
We arrive at a large, western-style house and I frown, but Komaeda pushes me forward and I lead them up the steps, until he steps in front of me to knock.   
  
'Komaeda-kun!' He's greeted by an older woman, who he beams at. Most of the people inside are considerably older than us, the youngest being around mid thirties. It unsettles me, and I feel like a child instead of a grown professional. It doesn't phase Komaeda nor Ikusaba, and they seem perfectly at home introducing themselves to everybody. I hover back, making myself more awkward unintentionally, until Komaeda suddenly pulls me forward.  
  
He introduces me to a middle aged man, a chemist, who smiles briefly before we're interrupted by a woman only a few years older than us. She and Komaeda beam at each other.   
  
'Samidare,' Komaeda begins. 'This is Hinata. He's my friend from when I was in university.' That wasn't a part of our script, so I turn to glare at him, but Samidare is smiling at me.   
  
'Hello, Hinata-kun. I'm Samidare Yui. It's nice to meet you.'   
  
I nod my head to her. 'He's already introduced me, I guess, but I'm Hinata Hajime.'  
  
Samidare and Komaeda exchange a serious look, and I feel like I know what's going on.   
  
'I'm going to get a drink.' I announce, and turn away.   
  
They're leaning closer together, whispering, when I return, so I cough.   
  
'Ah, Ha-inata. Didn't you get me a drink?'  
  
'You seemed busy. Get one yourself.' I glance to Samidare, who's giving me a strange look, but Komaeda laughs.  
  
'So rude tonight, Hinata.' He says it affectionately, and I avoid his gaze.  
  
'Samidare-san, how do you and Komaeda know each other?'  
  
'I'm his publisher.' She gives Komaeda a brief disparaging look. 'Didn't he tell you about me?'  
  
He laughs, and rubs the back of his head. 'I forgot. We haven't... uh... had time.'  
  
I wince at his phrasing. 'Well, uh. It's nice to meet you too, Samidare-san.' I attempt to make up for my rudeness, but then I ruin it all; 'I can't believe you published his trash.'  
  
Komaeda looks hurt briefly, but Samidare waxes on about his artistic spirit and talent, and he shoots me smug looks until she stops.   
   
The night continues similarly, professional introductions and people gushing over Komaeda's work, and I stopped wondering why he brought me here.  Connections. This is what this is: not a little soiree, but a connection-making exercise. He's busy talking to people, and Ikusaba is not in sight, so I lean against a table with my drink - non-alcoholic, because I'm sensible - and I'm joined by none other than my boss, Togami. I nearly choke on my drink.   
  
'Hinata? What are you doing here?' He narrows his eyes at me.   
  
My eyes are watering, so I gesture vaguely towards the rest of the room. 'Not sure myself. My friend brought me here.'  
  
He nods. 'Of course. Who's your friend?'  
  
'Komaeda. Komaeda Nagito.'  
  
His eyebrows go up, and it's the most expressive I've ever seen Togami.  
  
'You're aquainted with Komaeda?'  
  
Oh, if only he knew.  
  
I smile self-effacingly. 'You could say that. I went to university with him.'  
  
He gets it almost immediately. 'Then you know who his book is about?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Who?'  
  
'That'd be telling.' I sip my drink. It's not as if Togami would have known who I - the subject of Komaeda's book - was if I didn't work for him. He must know my secret, surely.   
  
'Do they know about the book?'  
  
I shrug. 'It'd be hard not to. Doesn't everybody know about it?'  
  
He leans on the table next to me, his eyes watching my face. 'Have you read it?'  
  
I shrug again. So many questions. 'Not all of it. Why?'  
  
'There's a boy in it who reminds me of you.'  
  
I touch my free hand to my chest, and turn slightly to him. 'Touching, Togami-san.' I shouldn't be talking to my boss like this, but I'd made a mistake talking to Komaeda again and it was catching up with me. I was enjoying myself too much to stop.   
  
Komaeda would go back to Tokyo, and I'd be fine.   
  
'Hm. Will you introduce him to me?'   
  
This time, I really choke on my drink. 'S-sure.'  
  
A few seconds later Komaeda catches my eye, and I beckon him over.   
  
'Komaeda,' I begin. 'This is my boss, Togami Byakuya. Togami-san, this is Komaeda Nagito. The writer.' I motion between them.  
  
Komaeda's either done enough of this lately or somebody has taught him what to do, since he handles it with more grace than I do.  
  
They converse for a short while, since their fields are so dramaticaly different, until Togami politely excuses himself and skulks away.  
  
'That was a compliment, coming from Togami.' I look down into my almost empty cup.   
  
'Yes, I feel so too. Hey.' He comes closer to me, and lowers his voice. 'You're sulking. What's wrong?'  
  
I tilt my head up. 'I'm not sulking. Why am I sulking?'  
  
'You're not usually like this.'  
  
I turn away from him. 'How do you know? We've hardly seen each other in years.'  
  
'I saw you at the other weekend.'  
  
I roll my eyes, but he perseveres.  
  
'You can't have changed that much. It's not like it's been a decade, Hajime. You're older now.'  
  
He moves to lean on the table beside me, the other side to where Togami was, and watches me.   
  
'I don't know why I'm here. I don't know any of these people.'  
  
'That's the point,' he motions in front of him. 'Your boss was here, important people are here. Shouldn't you be at places like this, making a name for yourself?'  
  
'No,' it comes out firmer than I had intended.  'I'll make a name for myself doing my job well.'  
  
'You know as well as I do that that's not how it works.'  
  
'So, you're published because you suck up to people.'  
  
'No. Art is...different.' He looks down at his feet, his voice quiet and hard to hear over the din of the room.   
  
'Oh, art is different! Great.' I finish my drink, and put the cup down somewhere vaguely behind me. 'I'm going home.'  
  
'No, wait.' He grabs my arm. 'Stop sulking.'  
  
'I'm not! I just don't want to be here.'  
  
'What else are you going to do instead?'  
  
'Sleep. See my friends. Play video games. I don't know!' I pull my arm out of his grip. 'Not read your book, though.'  
  
He sighs. 'See, you are su-'  
  
'No.' I edge away from him, and he follows me. Follows me right until I leave, right down the steps.   
  
'Fuck,' I mutter. It's cold.   
  
'Hajime?' He calls down to me. 'We can go somewhere else, if you want.'  
  
I turn to face him, pretending my heart didn't jump at the thought.  'What about Ikusaba?'  
  
He shrugs. 'She can look after herself. She's pretty good at it.'  
  
He's right. Ikusaba could, quite easily, knock me out. Well, so could a lot of people.   
  
'Well then. Where do you want to go?' I ask awkwardly as he walks down the steps to stand beside me. He grabs my arm again, but lightly this time.   
  
'Wherever.'   
  
We walk around the area, and soon enough I forget the cold. He asks me about my boss, and he makes fun of him and his company, and I laugh. His hand is warm on my arm, and I feel myself relaxing as we find a late-night cafe and sit in it. He begins to tell me about his life in Tokyo, all the things he loves and hates, and I realise I never really got to see that much of it.  
  
When I voice this, he looks at me. 'You should visit sometime.'  
  
I shrug. Something has come loose inside me. 'Maybe. I'm sorry for ruining your  night.'  
  
'It was mostly for you.' He doesn't look at me as he says it. 'I don't need that kind of stuff beyond keeping up appearances. But I'm worried about you.'  
  
'Worried?' He probably thinks I'm being an insular hermit, and took pity on me.   
  
'Yes. But you know what you want more than I do. I'm sorry for forcing you into it.' He looks down into his cup, and runs his fingers along the rim.   
  
I nod, but he can't see it. He's pale in the shadows and dim light, and he purses his lips as he considers my ongoing silence.   
  
'You didnt force me. I just didn't realise...' I trail off. I don't really know what I expected. I was mostly thinking of spending time with him. I didn't think too much about what it was. All weekend, I had looked forward to it, humiliatingly enough.   
  
'Ah, that's my fault. Although I kind of just wanted an excuse to introduce you to everyone.' He looks up at me and grins.   
  
We talk until we exhaust ourselves, and it fills up a part of me that I didn't know was empty. On my way home I'm more aware of it, and it ebbs away even though we parted only minutes ago.   
  
Returning to my own bed makes me feel empty. I text him.  
  
>Are you awake?  
  
He doesn't reply, and I hope that he's soundly asleep, not obsessing over me like I am him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trope time! i had to indulge myself a little hahaa... thank you for all the comments so far, I read them all & they mean a lot! :*

  
He replies in the morning.  
  
>sorry. did you need something?  
  
Impulsively my brain thinks yes, you, and I push it away.  
  
>No.  
  
It seems cold, I think.  
  
>I was just thinking about something you said. I don't remember now.  
  
>i see. do you want to call me?  
  
>I have work. Maybe later.  
  


* * *

  
'You didn't go to the centre,' I tell the boy sitting opposite me mildly. Tsumiki is standing aimlessly, wringing her hands as she struggles to find something to do. I want to relieve her, and leave, but I have a job to do. I'll comfort her later.  
  
'It was cold.' He mutters.  
  
'Were you warm in here, then?'  
  
He blushes, and I know I've hit the jackpot.  
  
'Maybe.' He avoids my gaze, and I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.  
  
'Who were you with?'  
  
He bristles, and doesn't reply. I feel my phone buzz again. The boy stands up, and mutters something about getting a drink. I take the opportunity to take out my phone instead of ruminating on my failure as a therapist.  
  
>Haaaaaaaaaaajime.  
>hajejejeiamememema.  
  
>What the fuck?  
  
>sorry. are you busy?  
  
>I'm at work. I said I'd call you later.  
  
>oh........  
  
>Why don't you ever use capitals?  
  
He used to type like a pretentious know it all. I hope we haven't switched places.  
  
>they're not very cute. i'm trying to come across as amicable and soft round the edges  
  
>So you can sneak up on people and stab them in the back?  
  
>haha! maybe! no. hajime :( you say mean things.  
  
I roll my eyes, and then my patient returns. He nods to my phone. 'Who's that?'  
  
I put it away in my pocket. 'My friend.'  
  
He nods again, and sits down.  
  
'I'm not doing very well at this. I don't know you very well to try and help, but I suppose that's part of my job, huh?' I smile at him.  
  
He shrugs. 'I don't think that's the problem. I don't really want your help. What would you know, anyway? You probably have a thing for that nurse over there.' He motions his head toward Tsumiki.  
  
'Why does everybody think that?'  
  
'You're really nice to her.'  
  
'Uh.' Tsumiki's looking down at some paperwork on the counter top, so I lower my voice. 'Tsumiki's... sensitive. I'm supposed to be good at dealing with that. She's my friend, and I want to help her.'  
  
His eyes widen. 'You're a therapist because you want to help people. That's dangerous.'  
  
'What? Why else would I be a therapist?'  
  
The boy makes vague hand motions. 'Most therapists just really want to get inside your brain. They don't actually care about you as a person.' He taps his head and smiles weakly. 'I guess you're not that bad after all.'  
  
I think he meant it as a compliment.  
  


* * *

  
  
I don't know what I'm stumbling into until I meet Matsuda. He's sitting with Chiaki at our kitchen counter, and they're either ignoring me or they don't know I'm here. Then Chiaki smiles at me and waves me over.  
  
'Matsuda-kun, this is Hinata. He lives here too.'  
  
The guy waves a hand in greeting. He has nice eyes, I notice, but his hair seems like it must get in his eyes all the time. I recognise him, somehow, but I can't place him.  
  
I watch them work for a while, until I gather that Matsuda is what you could consider a genius. I frown at their blueprints - blueprints for video games? - and Chiaki pokes me.  
  
'We might be coming to you for psychological advice.'  
  
'What? What are you going to be putting yourselves though?'  
  
She laughs. 'No I mean... for our characters. Matsuda know a bit about neuroscience, but he's not good at creating personalities.'  
  
I blink at him, and he looks mildly abashed. Neuroscience. 'A bit' about neuroscience.    
  
They continue for a while, and then he leaves. He smiles at me before he closes the door.  
  
Then Chiaki pounces, noticing my mood.  
  
'Was your date that bad?' I hadn't seen her this morning to tell her about it.  
  
'It wasn't a date,' I say mildly.  
  
'Are you sure? It sounded like one.'  
  
'There was three of us. Besides, I don't date men.' I don't look at her, but from her silence I assume she's rolling her eyes.  
  
'I want to go to an arcade later, Hajime. Will you come?'  
  
'Oh, are we going on a date?' I say sweetly.  
  
'No.' She lowers her voice, making it sound rougher than usual. 'I don't date men.' Belatedly, I realise she's doing an impression of me, but it's so unlike Chiaki that I just blink after her as she strolls into the kitchen.  
  
'Do you want some juice? I just bought some, and I think I had some of yours last week.'  
  
'Yeah.' I don't care that she drunk my juice, but I'll take any topic over the previous one. Even juice. We go in the living room with our juice like children, and she doesn't turn any console on. I'm scared.  
  
Chiaki makes me watch thirty minutes of this documentary on cats before I notice my phone buzzing in my pocket. It's Komaeda.  
  
'Hello?'  
  
Chiaki turns to glare at me.  
  
'You didn't call me.'  
  
I look at the clock.  
  
'Well, it is later.'  
  
He coughs. 'I thought you'd call me at lunch.'  
  
'What are you so desperate to tell me?'  
  
He's quiet, and Chiaki moves closer, as if to listen to the call.  
  
'Are you busy tonight?' He finally asks.  
  
'Yeah. We're going to an arcade.'  
  
'"We"?'  
  
'Me and Chiaki.'  
  
He's quiet again.  
  
I look at Chiaki, scoping her reaction.  
  
'You could come, if you like.'  
  
She scowls.  
  
'I can?' He sounds delighted. 'Where is it?'  
  
I start to tell him the address, but Chiaki shakes her head.  
  
'No, we're not going to that one. We're going to a different one.'  
  
I cover the phone. 'Where is it?'  
  
She shrugs. 'It's not far,' she always says that, 'but I don't know the, like, address. I could google it.'  
  
I roll my eyes. 'Organisation.'  
  
'I didn't know you were inviting him.' Her eyes light up. 'You could just tell him to meet us here!'  
  
I frown, but there's no way to avoid this whilst he's on the other end of the phone.  
  
I rattle off our address, and we agree to meet at seven o clock.  
  
'It's a late-night arcade.' I look at Chiaki. 'Since it's Chiaki, I don't think there'll be anything weird, but who knows?'  
  
Komaeda laughs, and reminds me to bring a coat.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
'I wanted to go out for dinner first,' Chiaki whines as we attempt to make food, and the kitchen still smells vaguely of 'burnt' when Komaeda arrives just before seven.  
  
'I suppose,' I say, attempting to eat weirdly congealed pasta, 'We will have to.'  
  
'Hmm. Maybe we should take snacks, then order in later tonight?'  
  
'We'll ask Komaeda.' I decide, realising that it sounds like I'm inviting him over. I frown, getting up to answer the buzzer.  
  
'Let me up?' He says quietly.  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
I'd expected him to wait in the lobby, but soon enough he's here in my apartment, and his nose wrinkles as he passes the kitchen.  
  
'Don't you have a fire alarm? I'm pretty sure this is their job, to make fun of bad cooks.'  
  
Chiaki stares at him, and I'm scared he's offended her.  
  
'You try and do a better job.' I say to Komaeda.  
  
'Hm, want me to try?' He picks up a frying pan, and I grab it from him.  
  
'Not here! You'll burn down everything for real.'  
  
'At least we'll be able to find out if your fire alarm works then.'  
  
I point to the fire alarm on the side, its batteries laying solemnly next to it.  
  
'It works.'  
  
He laughs, and Chiaki is still silent, staring. She gives me a weird look, before Komaeda turns to her.  
  
'Ah, how rude! Hello, Nanami-san.' He smiles kindly at her, and she merely tilts her head at him.  
  
'Hello, Komaeda-kun. It's nice to see you again.'  
  
He claps his hands. 'So! Where are we going?'  
  
I remember his advice and take a coat, and Chiaki takes hers and gloves.  
  
Walking in threes is weird, and I try to balance my time between them, but both of them are the kind of people who don't mind companionable silence or being left alone for a little while, so I take the opportunity to talk to Komaeda. I see Chiaki every day, after all.  
  
'I haven't been to an arcade in a while,' he muses. 'I'm sure I'll be terrible.'  
  
'Chiaki makes everybody look terrible. I hope your ego is strong enough to get through the night.'  
  
'Hm. You might have to build it up again afterwards.'  
  
'Oh, I'm so good at that.'  
  
He winks at me.  
  
The arcade is fairly busy when we get there, but dies down a bit as kids skulk home, still in their school uniforms.  
  
'Remember curfews, Hajime?' Komaeda asks me.  
  
'No.' He's beating me at a game, and he's barely concentrating. I narrow my eyes at the screen. 'I never had one. I studied.'  
  
He laughs quietly. 'Of course. Well, neither did I.' I'm pretty sure Komaeda didn't study, but I also doubt he spent his years out on the town.  
  
'I did.' Chiaki chimes in. 'Although, It was a bit different. I had to stop playing games by eleven pm.'  
  
'That's not a curfew,' I tell her. 'That's a bedtime.'  
  
She shrugs. 'Nobody can go to bed straight after playing a game.'  
  
'Which is why you slept all day instead.' I say quietly, but she hears me. She's playing a one player game, since I'd grown tired of her beating me.  
  
In my lapse in concentration, Komaeda wins, and I groan.  
  
'Aha! I win again, Hajime. It's a good job we're not gambling, or you'd be pretty poor by now.'  
  
I elbow him, and he darts out of the way, giggling. 'I'm pretty poor _now_. '  
  
'Oh, I'm sorry,' he says with mock gravity. 'Maybe we should bet that I'll win.'  
  
'I have some  self respect,' I murmur, and he tells me that that's all that I have, and we continue until Chiaki tells us to stop hogging the game we're not playing and try and beat her at something.  
  
We never do.  
  
Komaeda ends up coming around for food, and he falls asleep on my arm as Chiaki points out how the plot of this movie differs from the game adaptation. I'm not paying attention, because my ex-boyfriend is drooling on my arm, and it's making it difficult to eat my pizza.  
  
Chiaki tells me to wake him, but he looks cute and tired, so I let him sleep until it's too late to be awake. Chiaki goes to bed, and leaves me there, mostly in the dark and now pizza-less, with a boy drooling on me.  
  
I shake his arm gently.  
  
'Komaeda,' I say quietly. 'Komaeda, wake up.'  
  
He makes a cute noise and squeezes his eyes shut even more, but his breathing is lighter. 'Get up. It's late.'  
  
He mumbles something, and pushes my hand away from where it's still shaking his arm.  
  
'Fuck off,' he says quietly, and I still because I've hardly ever heard him swear before.  
  
'You're on my couch, Komaeda. Don't swear at me.'  
  
'You swear all the time.' He blinks awake and rubs his eyes before blearily looking up at me. 'Why did you wake me up? I could have just stayed here.' He sounds mad, like he always is when he wakes up.  
  
'You're on my couch. It's cold.'  
  
'...Are you kicking me out?'  
  
It's after midnight, and I consider.  
  
'...No.'  
  
'Then,' he announces dramatically, albeit sleepily, 'I'm going back to sleep.' He makes to settle back down and close his eyes, but I push him up.  
  
'Don't you have somewhere to be tomorrow?'  
  
He narrows his eyes at me. 'Do you?'  
  
'I have a job.'  
  
'So do I.' He sounds indignant.  
  
'Oh, of course. Where do you want to sleep?'  
  
He blinks. 'I have a choice?'  
  
'Yeah. One of them is the floor.'  
  
He scowls. 'It's cold.' He wraps his arms around himself to reiterate his point. 'Let me sleep with you.'  
  
'My bed isn't any warmer.'  
  
'But,' he pulls on my arm as I stand up. 'You'll be in it, and you're warm.'  
  
I roll my eyes, too tired to argue. 'We're not kids. Or girls. We can't sleep in the same bed.'  
  
His scowl deepens, but his eyes flash too. 'Oh? Why not?'  
  
'W-Well.' I stammer, 'We're both boys.'  
  
He rolls his eyes and lets go of my arm. 'What, do you think I'm going to jump you?'  
  
I pause, to my detriment, and his eyes narrow. 'Yes. Maybe.'  
  
'Well!' He flings his hands out dramatically. 'You don't have to worry about that. I don't know why anybody would want you.'  
  
I have a stockpile of retorts about how he wrote a book about me, and how many people probably want me now because of it, most of all him, but I don't say anything. I just grab his shoulders and pull him to his feet.  
  
'Fine, then. Come with me.'  
  
He scans my room as I turn the light on, and I almost damn myself for not tidying it, but it's not like he hasn't seen worse. It's much tidier than my room at university. He goes to my bookshelf and scans the titles, and stops when he gets to his book. He pulls it out, and flicks through it.  
  
'You're flicking through your own book?' I ask him as I close the door.  
  
'Is this where you got to?' He's looking at the page where I'd marked the corner, and I feel suddenly ashamed for marring the perfect pages. I don't know if his voice is disappointed or just curious, since it's still low and sleepy. I pretend that it doesn't do things to me.  
  
'Which part?'  
  
He starts quoting it, but - not the way it's written, I know, but word for word as I'd said it in person several years ago.  
  
I colour, and hope he doesn't see, as I step over to close the book and take it out of his hands.  
  
'Maybe you should ask before you touch people's belongings.'  
  
He blinks at me. 'Sorry. Is that not where you got to?'  
  
'No. It's the bit that made me angriest.'  
  
He frowns. 'What's to be angry about?'  
  
'You - you just.' I grab at my hair. 'You just quoted what I said! You knew I'd know.'  
  
'Hm.'  He tilts his head, and for a second I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. 'Yes. Neither of us are idiots. I was wondering if that's why you stopped there.'  
  
'I didnt even get there.' I put it back on the shelf. 'I haven't read it fully. I just flicked through it.'  
  
'You should.' He says. 'Read it, I mean. You'll like it.'  
  
I laugh, but not happily. 'Of course you'd say that. You wrote it.'  
  
He looks at me, and licks his bottom lip briefly, before he goes and sits on my bed. I wait, but he doesn't say anything.  
  
'Well,' he says a few minutes later. 'Where shall I sleep? Do you still sleep on the right side?'  
  
Only when I'm with you, but I just shrug. 'From here, it's left. But yes.'  
  
'Great!' He shrugs his hoodie off, and climbs into the side he always had. I try to purposely sleep in the middle now, and I worry that I'm going to accidentally punch him in my sleep. Or wrap myself around him. I let out a harsh sigh, and realise we're both fully dressed. He's hiding under the covers, so I ignore him, take my pajamas, and go to the bathroom and change. I'd offer him a toothbrush, or a shower, but I don't have a spare and I don't want to offer him my towels.  
  
He's curled up when I return to my room and turn the light off. He's hogging my blankets, and I have to coax them from his grip before I climb in. He lets go begrudgingly, and looks over the top as I get in. He's hiding the bottom of his face under the covers, and his eyes look owlish as I look back at him. I realise, belatedly, how small my bed is.  
  
I lay on my back and ignore him looking at me, and stare up at the ceiling. He doesn't stop, though, so I glance at him from the sides of my eyes.  
  
'Do you need something?' I say quietly. My voice sounds too loud, like I'm shattering something.  
  
'No,' he's whispering. 'Not really.'  
  
'Then,' I don't lower my voice, 'Why are you staring at me?'  
  
'Where else am I going to look?'  
  
'Insides of your eyelids?'  
  
He snorts. 'Shut up.'  
  
'It's my bed!'  
  
'Hm. Do you always talk to yourself, then?'  
  
'I'm talking to you.' I turn to face him.  
  
He's quiet for another little while, just looking at me.  
  
'You're just how I remember.'  
  
I close my eyes. 'Well, you did write a book about me.'  
  
He smiles, I hear rather than see. 'No, that would make it easier to paint you as something you're not.'  
  
'You did that anyway.'  
  
'Did I?' He sits up, dropping the blanket, and looks down at me. His hair's a mess. 'I think I was quite accurate. Which you'd know, if you'd finished it.'  
  
'Fine.' I roll my eyes. 'I will. Not right now, but I will.'  
  
'Good.' He lays back down, but he's not hiding half his face now, and his expression seems more intense. I close my eyes.  
  
'Go to sleep.' I'm whispering now.  
  
He doesn't reply, but I hear him settle.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your comments - the last chapter was one of my favourites so I'm glad people enjoyed it! I'm bad at these note things but I just want everyone who's still reading and leaves comments or kudos that it means a lot to me and makes me excited to finish and update this :*

I wake up with his head tilted against my chest, and I panic. I manage not to scream and scramble away, but probably because I'm enjoying it too much. The light is still soft through my curtains, but my clock tells me I've only got another twenty minutes in bed. I extract myself, and turn my alarm off so it doesn't wake Komaeda up, and begin getting ready.

I half expect him to be awake when I leave the bathroom, fully dressed and hair wet, but he's still asleep where I left him.

I close the door behind me, and find Chiaki blearily eating cereal.

'That's not good for you,' I say quietly, since it's an assortment of different colours and the milk's going pink.

'Mhm. Where's Komaeda?'

I feign ignorance. 'What?'

'His jacket and shoes are still here.'

'Oh.'  I motion to my room. 'It was too cold out here.'

'So,' she says, lowering her voice so it's barely more than a breath, 'you let him sleep with you.'

'We're not... sleeping together. Well.' I pause. 'We did, but it's not like we're having sex.' I frown. 'We're...bonding.'

Chiaki snorts. 'Bundling, more like.'

I ignore her, and open the fridge, my frown deepening. There's leftover pizza, but - well, okay. There's no but's. I take some.

'That's not good for you,' she says mildly, mimicking me again. I hope it didn't become her new habit. I shrug, my mouth full, and find the stuff I need for work. I might be early today, for once.

'Are you going to see him tonight, too?'

I shrug, and ignore her as I search for my keys. 'If you hurry up, we can leave together.'

'Yes, okay.' She pushes her bowl to one side. 'I'm ready.'

'Wash it up!'

She ignores me, and goes to put her coat on.

He's not there when I get home, and there's no sticky note anywhere with a smiley face. That's what I expect, because that's the kind of person he is, and it's what he used to do. Maybe that was a step too far, even for him.

I do open his book, though.

A note falls out and flutters to the floor. Of course. This was definitely more like him. I swallow and breathe deeply before I bend to pick the note up.

_You were warm._

I recoil, and put the book away, the note buried inside of it, ignoring how hot my skin feels and how red my face is.

* * *

 

For unknown reasons, I show it to Chiaki, even though every single part of me knows that it was intended for me only and that I should keep it a secret.

'Interesting.' Is all she says.

'What does it mean?' I beg of her.

She gives me a look. ' Maybe you... have a fever?' I ignore her, and put the note back away in my room. When I return, she looks concerned.

'No, we talked about it. I said it was cold in my room, but.' I frown. I shouldn't have shown her the note, but she gets it.

'Right. Did he used to say that?'

Komaeda was always freezing, so of course he did.

I frown, and leaf through the letters we'd got that morning. One was from my parents, who didn't really understand email.

Chiaki engrosses herself in her game as I open it, and read a few boring tales of life back where my parents live. There was the usual 'we miss you,' 'we wish you still lived here,' and the ever-present 'are you getting married yet?' They didn't believe that some nice young girl wasn't determined to tie me down, yet. I frown. They'd grown tired of asking if Chiaki was interested, and I don't dare mention any of my other female friends or even acquaintances to them.

The rest were bills, and I ignored them to put my parents letter back with all their other ones in one of my drawers. I don't know why I kept them. It felt rude to throw away something handwritten.

'Anything interesting?' Chiaki asks me, but her voice is tense.

'No. What's wrong? Do you have enough rent money?'

She turns to me. 'When have I ever been late for rent?  I just saw what I thought was your parents address.'

I roll my eyes. 'It's not like they found out I've met Komaeda again and started an intervention.'

She looks relieved, but just makes a noncommittal noise.

* * *

 

I don't see Komaeda again until the weekend, and he seems vaguely distant, and I'm worried, and worried about being worried. Something seems to claw at my chest from the inside, but like everything else, I push it down and pretend it doesn't exist. It makes it worse.

'How are your parents?' He asks me, but I'm not sure he really cares. Neither of us have mentioned his note.

'They're okay.' I don't bring up the letter, because it doesn't interest me, let alone him.

He makes an assenting noise, but doesn't look at me.

'So.' I say. 'How long is it until you're back in Tokyo?'

'Trying to get rid of me?' He grins.

'Maybe.' I sip my drink. We're back in the cafe, and Ikusaba is here today. She keeps sending us concerned looks.

'I was serious, you know. When I said that you should visit me in Tokyo.'

'Is that a good idea?'

He smiles, and he's beautiful. 'I don't see why it isn't. We're friends now, aren't we?'

I mull that over. I don't know how it happened, but he's right. 'Friends...' The letters feel foreign on my tongue in regards to Komaeda. 'I suppose so. How did that happen?'

'My charm and wit.'  He plays with his cutlery.

'Must be it.'

We don't talk about much as we eat, and I feel like he's avoiding something.

'What's wrong, Komaeda?' I finally ask when we walk around the streets around my home.

'Why do you call me that?' He asks without looking at me.

'It's your name. What else am I supposed to call you?' But I know what he means.

'I just,' he waves a hand, 'feel like we're past that, you know?'

I frown, and weigh his name in my mouth. It's not like I've never used it before, but it feels wrong. Like I'm not entitled to it.

'No.' I say. 'I... can't. I'm sorry.' I don't know why I apologise, but I suppose it might be rude to refuse to use somebody's given name when they seem to expect it.

'Okay,' he says quietly, and that's not it.

'Is that what's wrong?' I dig. I know I'm not subtle, for a trainee-therapist, but I don't think I'm supposed to be. A patient would know what I'm doing, and Komaeda does, too.

'No, Hajime.' His voice is quiet, but he smiles and it's small. 'Nothing is wrong. I'm just introspective. I'm a writer, you know?'

'If you say so. But you can tell me, if you want.' I realise that we aren't exactly close, and it has been a long time since he'd been able to call me his confidant, but I can't stand how quiet he is.

'Hm. It's nothing.' He stops. 'You will visit me, won't you? You're not just saying that.'

I stop a step in front of him, and turn to face him.

'If it's what you really want.' I'm starting to think that I'd do almost anything he asked me to, and I'm screwed if he discovers that.

'It is.' He looks at me very seriously. 'I want you back in my life, whatever form it takes. I was wrong before, when I said that I couldn't do it. I can.'

I frown. So he wrote a book, and now he's over me? I should be relieved, glad that he's moving on, but all I feel is overwhelming regret. I quash it.

'Good,' is all I say. 'I'll visit you, then.'


	7. Chapter 7

He visits me a few more times in Yokohama, and I go his signing properly (but laugh when offers to sign my book), and then he's preparing to leave.

'That's months away.' He tells me, the day before he leaves, sitting in my living room.

'Surprisingly, I can't spend all of my time with you.'

He laughs quietly. 'That's a shame, isn't it? Spending Christmas and new year alone...'

'I won't be alone.' I'm playing a game on Chiaki's save, and if I mess up she'll... probably just bully me, actually.  'You're away then, anyway.'

He sighs. 'It will be very sad...'

'You'll be surrounded by your publishing people. They lick your ego enough that you won't even notice.'

He glares at me from the couch when I glance to him, where he's laying on his back and flicking through a magazine. 'Why wouldn't they? I'm a genius, after all.'

In the game, I jump over three boxes, then hide behind a fourth. 'That's what they seem to think.'

'They're correct.' I can't see him, but I can hear him go back to the magazine.

Footsteps from beside the box. 'Prove it.' I crouch, and follow the noise with my gun out.

'I will.' I feel him sit up, and flick more readily through the magazine.

I follow the footsteps, but there's nobody in front of me. I uncrouch and step forward, faster.

'Aha!' Komaeda says. 'Here's proof.'

I didn't check behind me, and before I can, I hear him. I'm dead.

I turn to Komaeda. 'Your fault.'

'Look.' He points at an ad for his book, with those one-line reviews about what a genius he is.

'That proves nothing.' I turn off the TV and then stand up. 'Isn't it your last night here? Shouldn't we go out?'

He blinks up at me. 'Out?'

'Yeah. Around, somewhere.'

I ask Chiaki, but she's busy - somehow - working on something with Matsuda, and Souda has never really liked Komaeda, so it's just us. We go to a bar that I went to once with Souda - surprisingly, since it was one of the nicer places he has dragged me to - and Komaeda looks uncomfortable until we sit down.

'Bars scare me a little.' He tells me quietly over a drink.

'Scare you?'

'Hm.' He grins. 'It's because I'm so youthful, I'm afraid somebody will kick me out.'

I roll my eyes. 'No it isn't. Why don't you like them?'

He leans back and shrugs. 'Drinking is hit or miss, isn't it? People go home hating themselves and throwing up and think - ah! I'll go and do this again next week.'

I raise my eyebrows at him. 'Are you a lightweight?'

He looks hurt. 'I'm not talking about myself!'

'That'd be a first.'

We see Souda anyway, not even flirting but rather staring at this girl like she was the creator of the universe. I talk to him at the bar, rather than torturing Komaeda with him.

'Why are you here?!' His eyes bug out slightly as he sees me, but he throws an arm aroud my neck anyway in greeting.

'I don't know,' I mutter. 'I'm here with Komaeda.'

'K-ko-what?' He splutters.

'Oh. Yeah. He wrote a book about me.' I glance round to look at where the man himself is sitting. He's not looking at me, but at his phone, and as I watch him he gets a call.

'So now you're... what?' Souda's staring at me.

I shrug, keeping an eye on Komaeda. 'We're friends now, I think. He's going back to Tokyo tomorrow.' Komaeds stands up, looks briefly around, and walks outside with the phone to his ear.

'Tokyo...' Souda mutters.

Komaeda's gone for about fifteen minutes, and when he returns I extract myself from Souda's rambling to go and sit with him. I can see Souda whenever I want, after all.

'Who was that?' I ask him, as he sits opposite me with flushed cheeks. It's cold out, but they look more red from warmth than the chill.

'Ah, It was Naegi-kun.'

I swallow, and nod like I'm interested. 'Cool. What did he want?'

'Just wondering when I'm going to be back.' He looks down at the table, a small smile on his face.

'S-Souda's here,' I tell him wildly, because I'm desperate to talk about anything else.

'Really? I haven't seem him since...' He tilts his head. 'Well, since we broke up.'

I nod again. 'Yeah, I... we're still friends.'

Komaeda smiles. 'I'm glad. I was worried you only had Nanami-san for a while there. Although I don't think she likes me very much.' His smile drops.

 _Neither does Souda_ , I think, but the truth of it is that Chiaki has nothing against Komaeda.

'She doesn't know you that well. I'm sure you'd be friends if you got to know each other...'

'Hm, maybe.' He gives me a look that I can't read. 'I guess I'll have to get to know her better then.' Then he looks away from me, and the smile returns to his face, slightly sadder than before.

* * *

 

The early winter chill get deeper as the days get darker, and I consider swapping the sheets of paperwork for the sheets of my bed. I spend most of the end of November and early December sneezing and wishing for death, and I eventually lose my voice.

I try and signal this to Togami with hand gestures, and he narrows his eyes at me like I'm making rude signs to him. Maybe you can make Freudian slips with hand gestures.

'I think,' Tsumiki announces dramatically, 'That Hinata has lost his voice!' Her voice is raised in concern, and for the fifth time that week she hurries to press her hand against my forehead. 'You're very hot, Hinata.' She tells me quietly and earnestly, and I struggle to frame my face.

'Get out of my office,' Togami says calmly. 'Before I have you both arrested for wasting my time.' He hasn't mentioned the night I saw him out with Komaeda, but his behaviour hasn't changed one bit. He's as cold as ever.

'B-but,' Tsumiki's voice is quiet, 'Hinata is sick. He has a fever. You don't want him to... spread it around the office, do you?' She begs him, and then flinches away slightly.

A vein twitches on Togami's forehead. 'Take your paperwork home with you. And type it up at home, so I don't have to deal with your inferior immune system's failures when you hand it in. None of us want to be ill for end of year party.'

I do as he says, and collapse on the couch when I get home.

>Hajime, it's lunchtime.

>So?

>call me?

>I can't. I'm sick.

>...germs can't be transferred over the phone, Hajime.

>I've lost my voice you insensitive fuck.

>that's very sad. now you won't be able to sing Nanami to sleep with your melodic voice...

>Didn't I just tell you I'm sick? You should be offering to nurse me back to health, not being mean to me.

>mean? I just complimented you.

>Oh, haha...

>what are you doing for your birthday?

>Probably dying.

>wow, that's morbid.

>I don't know yet. It's not really a big deal...

>ah, okay.

* * *

 

'You're going to the centre?' I ask the boy sitting in front of me. Once he goes to the centre he stops being my responsibility.

His cheeks are less sallow than even the last time I saw him, and he has an edge of excitement in his voice as he speaks.

'I've... found somebody to go with me. To take me there.' He smiles.

I speak quietly. 'He's come around, then?' I don't think this relationship is healthy, but he'd be seeing a decent therapist soon. I supress a cough.

He nods.

'Once you get set up, we'll stop visiting you so often. You'll probably have someone else come visit, actually. I'm sure you will, er, miss us greatly...'

His smile fades slightly. 'I'm sorry for being a nuisance, Hinata-san.'

I wave a hand. 'No, absolutely not. You had to come to things in your own time, and I didn't want to force you. I was just checking in on you. Sometimes you just have to be patient and let the fearful feelings pass.' I can feel Tsumiki pause and look at me as I talk.

After our goodbyes, she stops me. 'That was, um, some good advice there, Hinata-kun...' She smiles shyly at me, and it's adorable.

I feel my cheeks colour slightly under her gaze. 'Er, yeah. This is my job, after all.' It's not like I'd said the same things to myself thousands of times.

She pats my back as I begin a coughing fit, and it's comforting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! I'm going to be busy over the next week and a half so there probably won't be any updates (or maybe 1 if I can swing it...) the next few chapters will be a bit Komaeda-light but then things will get gay so. soooo. it'll be worth it


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